


The Dreary Drabble

by penoftruthiness



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Henchperson's Name is Ainsley, M/M, Other, The Fernald/Olaf thing is completely one-sided and doesn't actually happen don't worry, There's some nonbinary gender feelings in here, Very Unaware Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 03:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penoftruthiness/pseuds/penoftruthiness
Summary: Ainsley hates watching Fernald with Olaf, but they can't figure out why.





	The Dreary Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> I made a joke about this ship to my friend a week ago and now look at us
> 
> Stealing names for Count Olaf’s troupe from JCMorrigan's [The Amorous Accomplices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330810/chapters/28038132). I thought they all fit really well.

Ainsley had never been sure how romantic relationships actually worked. As a child, Ainsley had no opportunity to experience a lot of things, one of which was a romantic and functional marriage (not to mention a functional family). So, in order to understand, they turned to books.  

They read several versions of fictional romances: fairy tales, classic novels, and the type of 50 cent paperbacks that they could still find at gas stations whenever one of the troupe managed to convince Olaf to refuel the car. But fairy tales had always been their favorite. Quite often, when they were younger, they would close their eyes and imagine real life courtship in the same way - a beautiful maiden meets a handsome young prince, and is swept away into his world. 

As you may know, this is not often how relationships work in the real world. But even before Ainsley had discovered that the fairy tale version of love was a lie, they knew they could never experience it. There was no room for someone like them in those stories. A beautiful lady? A handsome man? No one had ever called them either “beautiful” or “handsome”. And the nouns didn’t quite work either.

So from a very young age, Ainsley had accepted that they would never be in love. It was less that they were satisfied with this, and more that they were realistic about it. It seemed so utterly out of the realm of reality, that even considering it was a waste of time. Was it something they wanted? The mere act of thinking about it would only cause pain, so why bother?

Which made playing romance on stage very difficult. 

One of the best parts about joining Olaf’s acting troupe was that they all seemed utterly unconcerned with what parts Ainsley played. There was never any arguing or even confused glances at what outfits they wore on stage. And gradually, they started wearing whatever they wanted to non-dress rehearsals as well. No one batted an eye.

But they could not get the hang of playing romantic parts. They felt the most comfortable, the most in their element when playing a lone tragic figure, or comic relief. Or, often, a lackey for whichever part Olaf had. 

Once, the troupe had tried to put on a play that called for two pairs of couples. Olaf had decided that the two twins would play opposite himself and Ainsley. During the entirety of rehearsals and performance, Ainsley had felt awful. They felt uncomfortable and unnatural in the part, and they were sure that it was obvious from the audience as well. Even Olaf’s questionable acting skills couldn’t stop one of the pairs from feeling much more legitimate than the other, and afterwards, Ainsley was content to shrink into the background, choosing smaller and smaller roles to ensure they wouldn’t have to experience that feeling again.

For a while, actually, it was nice. None of the troupe were especially nosey or involved in each others’ lives, and having a group of people that got together just to perform was comfortable. As the weeks turned into months, Ainsley decided that Olaf’s troupe was the most like a family they’d ever really had. 

All was well until the thing with Fernald.

More specifically, Fernald’s thing with Olaf. 

Fernald had been the newest addition to their troupe before the thing with the Baudelaires started. He had shown up one day following Olaf around like a lost puppy. Ainsley had never really figured out how the two had met, although they assumed that it was much like how Olaf had met any of the rest of them - in a regional theater production they both were cast in, until Olaf had either quit or been asked to leave for too many interruptions or too much vandalism.

It was pitiful, watching the man try to catch Olaf’s attention. For a while, Ainsley had merely thought it was friendship (or whatever the word is for “comradery between people who meet up biweekly for an acting troupe”). But the amount of persistence in the face of complete disinterest that Fernald had shown was unusual. Even though Ainsley had learned how unrealistic the fairy tales they’d read as a child were, they knew that one part was still accurate: that sort of persistence could only mean one thing.

Besides being sad, it was also  _ annoying _ . Fernald would interrupt scenes to ask Olaf’s opinion, or attempt to switch parts in order to get more scenes with the man. There was an entire month when Fernald had barely spoken a word to the rest of them, just waiting to get one more second with the boss. 

Even as the rejection slowly became evident and Fernald was forced to back down, Ainsley still caught him staring at Olaf, or smiling softly to himself when Olaf would make a joke. It was especially obnoxious seeing that, when Olaf was not present, the person that Fernald would spend the most time with was Ainsley. The man was actually quite pleasant when he was not being distracted by Counts - he had a view of the world that Ainsley could appreciate, even if they often did not understand each other at first. His sense of humor was almost as hilarious as his complete lack of skill at card games. 

But whenever Olaf appeared, Fernald scrambled to his side, abandoning Ainsley and whatever they had just been doing together. The rejection of the schoolyard, Ainsley thought, never really left you. The educational system truly was a wellspring for all kinds of trauma.

Which made it even worse when Olaf would reject Fernald - or worse, laugh at him. There was a particular type of cruelty that Olaf was a master at: the art of causing embarrassment to others. And Fernald’s hooks were an unceasing source of amusement for Olaf since the day Fernald joined their troupe. 

The hooks were another thing Ainsley had never really figured out. Knowing that most people did not like to discuss their traumas, they had never asked. But regardless of the history behind it, Fernald was missing both of his hands, and in their place he had hooks. In fact, he had a series of hook-like attachments, each of which were better for different tasks (something that had struck Ainsley as quite ingenious, especially since it seemed that Fernald made the alternate versions himself). But even with these new hooks, he was often understandably worse at manipulating objects than the rest of them. And this was a fact that Olaf took full advantage of.

Olaf spent several plays in a row coming up with prop for Fernald’s character that was too large and unwieldy for him to carry, and snicker quietly to himself as he watched Fernald attempt to hold it. During one rehearsal, they had to take a break after Fernald dropped a particularly large piggy bank on the stage, shattering the ceramic and spreading coins all over the stage. The drop itself had only caused Olaf to crack a smile, but watching Fernald bend down and try to pick up each and every coin off the stage turned into a laughing fit. The worst part was that Fernald looked up and  _ grinned _ . He was so happy that Olaf was happy. It turned something deep in Ainsley’s stomach.

Just a few months before the Baudelaire orphans entered their lives, another incident took place that caused that same feeling. Olaf, for whatever reason, had decided that he wanted a garden. Despite the fact that Olaf was clearly never going to be able to keep it alive (the Olaf mansion was a biohazard in itself), he insisted that the troupe help him set it up. And of course, he assigned the roles: Charlotte and Emily would prepare the soil, Ainsley and Bolton would build a fence, and Fernald would bury the seeds. And since Olaf was Olaf, he spent quite a while explaining to Fernald that he needed the garden to be  _ perfect  _ \- the rows exactly this far apart, seeds every few inches, and only one seed per hole. And then Olaf had left him a ruler and a bag of seeds and went inside to drink wine.

Slowly, the rest of the troupe joined him inside as they finished their tasks. Except Fernald, who was painstakingly measuring, digging out small holes in the earth, and struggling to pick up only a single seed out of the bag at a time. 

Ainsley knew that Fernald had a pair of appendages that looked like scoops and would have been faster, but obviously the man had forgotten to bring them today. So, Fernald would pinch each seed between the two points of his hooks and raise it out of the bag slowly, before dropping it in the hole. This, of course, only worked half the time. The other half, the seed would tumble down back into the bag, or onto the ground beside it, forcing Fernald to pick it up again. Ainsley could hear the muffled sounds of Olaf giggling from the window the first several times.

However, Olaf eventually got bored with this particular game, and the sounds from the window disappeared. Ainsley worked slowly on their part of the fence, stretching it out until they were sure that Olaf and everyone else were no longer watching.

They dropped their hammer, approaching Fernald slowly.

“Hey, um...can I help with that?”

Fernald looked up at them, surprised. Taking a moment to process, he looked quickly between Ainsley and the bag of seeds, taking a glance at the door to the mansion. 

Slowly, he nodded. “Uh, sure! Yeah, sure. The boss will be happy if it’s done quicker, right?”

Ainsley didn’t bother answering, knowing that Fernald was saying that more for his benefit than theirs. They bent down and grabbed the seed bag, motioning for Fernald to continue digging out the holes, which they would then follow behind. At every spot, they stopped to cover the seed.

As Ainsley buried another seed in the earth, they snuck a glance at Fernald, who was still eagerly working. It must be love, they thought. There was no other reason why anyone would sit outside for hours in the hot sun planting a garden. 

What an utter waste of time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is (hopefully!) the first in a series of drabbles for this ship. The prompt for this one was "I hate seeing you with him".
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://conversationslikeminefields.tumblr.com/). Scream about this ship with me please (please).


End file.
